


Reshaping the Righteous

by Morgana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finally broke, but it wasn't torture that did him in</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reshaping the Righteous

"Well, Dean? Have you given my offer any more thought?"  
  
Dean rolled his head over to look at the demon that stood beside the rack. In a sick, twisted way, he was actually glad to see him. Every time he showed up, it meant that Dean had withstood one more day, held out for one more day against Hell itself. Not that it really mattered, seeing as how the end of one day was the beginning of another, but he couldn't afford to dwell on that unless he wanted to give in to the despair that was almost always the first step. He'd seen it before - despair, followed by anger, and before they knew it, the souls that had been on the racks around him were standing in front of him, regarding him with inky black eyes while they took him apart the same way their torturers had done to them. Hell was, in essence, a demon factory, just like Ruby said.   
  
But they weren't going to get Dean Winchester. He'd lost track of time long ago, was reduced to using Alastair's visits to count a single day, but however long it had been, it wasn't nearly enough. If he had to spend a couple hundred years on the rack, he would - eventually (he hoped) they'd get bored with torturing him and move on to other souls. Already he'd seen a few of his tormentors looking with longing at some of the other racks where newer souls screamed, begged, and pleaded for mercy. Dean still screamed, but he'd given up begging long ago, and he'd never bothered to ask for Hell's non-existent mercy. Maybe one day he'd stop screaming, and they'd leave him alone to rot here.  
  
He glared at Alastair and shook his head. Today's guest star had torn his tongue out after a few hours, upset that he wouldn't talk back to her. But when he'd stopped begging, he'd stopped talking, and over time his entire vocabulary had disintegrated to three words, three words that he was holding on to with all his might. They were all that stood between him and Alastair's offer, all that kept him from descending into the darkness that bled into just about everybody here. And he wasn't giving them up, not for Alastair, not to make his own pain go away, and certainly not for the demon bitch that got upset with him over them today.  
  
Alastair clucked his tongue against his teeth. "You know, you can make all this stop," he told him, reaching out to trace his fingers almost lovingly over the large gash the bitch had ripped into Dean's upper abdomen. Dean gasped and grit his teeth as Alastair's finger slipped inside. "You're going to give in eventually, so you might as well do it now."  
  
When he still didn't answer, the demon sighed. "All right, you know the deal," he said as his finger slid free and he started to turn around. Dean pulled his three words up, ready to make it through another day, but then Alastair stopped and looked back at him, and the dawning light in his eyes sent a cold shiver through him. He'd looked like that the first week, when he'd first put Dean on the rack and spread him open like a butterfly, cutting into him with his own hands. "You know the deal," he repeated. "That's it, isn't it? You know what happens here, and while there might be a few inventive minds, most are too mundane to really do anything to you."  
  
He stroked his chin for a moment, then smiled. And just the sight of that smile alone was almost enough to make Dean scream. He'd seen what happened when Alastair smiled, and all too often, it led to someone taking the deal. "A real challenge," he mused softly. "I'll have to think about this for a while." Without saying anything else, he walked away, leaving Dean hanging on the rack, watching Hell swirl around him through the wreckage of the eye he still had left.  
  
Alastair didn't come back for a while, but nobody new appeared, either. He was just left there, strung up like he had been at first, although this time he was aware of the movement around him. Dean did his best to make good use of the unexpected respite. Sleep was useless down here, but there were always his words. They'd held him up through torture, and he had to believe in them to get through whatever was coming next. He concentrated on them, let them fill him up until there was no room for anything else, just those three words.   
  
His attention was pulled out of them by a single touch against his forehead that made his whole body tingle in a slightly painful way, but when he looked at Alastair, it was with two whole eyes and a new sense of dread. They only healed him like that when something bad was coming. "Need you to be pretty for my little surprise," the demon told him.   
  
Alastair held a hand out, beckoning a tall figure forth from the shadows around them. For a second, Dean could only gape at him, mouth working as he tried to force a word past the sudden tightness of his throat. Sammy. His Sammy. Here in Hell, come to get him. Then he blinked and hellfire danced in inky black eyes. Dean let out a wordless howl of rage and lunged against the restraints holding him to the rack, only distantly hearing Alastair chuckle. "It's a very good copy, isn't it?" he crowed. "And just because I knew you'd appreciate it, I made a few extras."  
  
A second Sam, then a third and fourth, walked over to join the first Sam, all of them watching Dean with demon eyes. There were small imperfections here and there, or at least he thought there were, but it had been so long since he'd seen him, that Dean couldn't really be sure that any of them  _weren't_  Sam. Alastair handed the knife to one of the Sams and said, "By all means, enjoy yourself," then walked away, leaving Dean alone with the copies of his brother.  
  
Great. So now it was going to be Sam torturing him, splitting him open and taunting him with how weak he was. Dean took a shaky breath and tried to brace for it, but he never took his eyes off Sam's face as the one with the knife walked towards him. Sam raised the knife, but instead of slicing or stabbing, he cut the rope binding Dean to the rack. Four swift strokes and Dean toppled forward into his brother's arms, free of the rack for the first time since the dogs had torn him apart.  
  
He barely noticed himself being lifted and carried, could only cling to Sam and wonder if he'd managed to somehow find a way to trick Alastair so he could come get him. When he was placed on what felt incredibly like a bed, he started to believe he had. "Sammy," he croaked, offering up one of his precious words in the only thanks he could muster.  
  
"Shhh, it's okay," Sam assured him, carefully peeling his filthy, blood-crusted clothes away. "I've got you, Dean."  
  
They were words he'd been waiting to hear without even knowing it. Dean let out a broken sob and closed his eyes, letting Sam move him as needed. He must be checking him for damage, he thought as he was rolled over, and it didn't even occur to him that there could be anything else until two slick fingers forced their way inside his body. "Sammy!" Dean squawked, trying to squirm away, but another Sam was standing in front of him and he kept him still.  
  
"It's okay," the one behind him muttered, pulling his fingers free. The bed shifted under them and Dean had a split second of sickening realization before there was something harder and much larger than the fingers shoving its way into him. He screamed, body arching into a bow as he tried to get away, but there was nowhere to go. He had to lay there and take it while his brother raped him.  
  
Hands slid down his back to grip his hips, pulling him up onto his knees while Sam thrust in even further. The worst of the pain was starting to recede, and he could hear him muttering as he fucked him, a low litany that cut deeper than any knife could. "God, Dean, so tight. I used to dream about this, you know, used to jerk off to it when I was younger. It's why I left for Stanford, to get away from you so I wouldn't think about it."  
  
Jesus. It really was his fault then. He had been the one to drive Sam away, just like he'd always feared. Dean whined low in his throat, and the Sam in front of him stroked a hand down his face. "It's okay," he told him. "We'll make sure you never want us to leave again."  
  
Before Dean could say he didn't want him to leave already, that he didn't need this to convince him, Sam knelt up in front of him. The hand that had caressed him moved down to circle a hard dick that was just - well, obviously this wasn't real, because humans just didn't get that  _big_. He pumped himself a few times, smeared his fingers through the precome that was drooling out of the tip, and swiped them over Dean's lips. "Open up."  
  
Dean clamped his lips shut and glared up at him. "Make him scream," the Sam in front of him told the one fucking him. There was a shift and a hard thrust that sent pain roaring through his body, but he managed to keep his mouth closed. The fucking was turning brutal, and hopefully it would be over soon, before the one in front of him could get what he wanted. Not that he seemed to care, because he started jerking off, occasionally pausing to try and push his fingers into Dean's mouth or paint his lips with more precome.  
  
"Gonna look so pretty with my come dripping all over your face," he moaned, stroking himself faster, and Dean wondered if it would be better to open for him. In his mouth or on his face, either was disgusting, but at least the one was only one place and over fast. He didn't get a choice, however, because the Sam fucking him suddenly groaned and he could feel hot pulses inside him, and fuck, that was just  _weird_ , feeling someone come  _inside_  him. Almost as soon as the one behind him finished, the one in front of him grunted, "Fuck, gonna come," and Dean barely had time to close his eyes before there were warm spatters of thick liquid pouring over his face, the pungent scent of come filling the air around him.  
  
The Sam behind him pulled out and a hand traced his face. "Yeah, that's pretty," his brother's voice said. "And I bet he's not gonna hold out anymore, is he? After all, it's hard to stay strong for someone that fucks you over like we just did."  
  
There it was - Alastair's new game. He wanted Dean to turn against Sam, wanted to be able to use his brother as a weapon against him, but Dean wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. He forced his eyes open, blinking past the stickiness on his lashes and looked at the two Sams, the copies that had just raped and degraded him, and gave them his words. "Love you, Sammy."  
  
It was a reminder to himself as much as them. He was doing this because he loved Sam, and that would never change. Even if it had been the real Sam standing there, his dick wet from fucking him, Dean knew he'd say the same thing. He loved Sam, had loved him enough to go to Hell so he'd have his chance at life, and he certainly loved him enough to withstand whatever Hell did to try to get him to break. He said it again, staring into inky black eyes. "Love you, Sammy."  
  
The one who'd come all over his face smiled. "I bet you'll love this as well," he promised, moving around behind him while a third Sam came up to brush a hard, leaking dick over his lips. Fingers shoved inside again, but this time they didn't stop; instead, there were more and more, opening him up wide like he'd never been before. When he was stretched around the width of what could only be an entire hand, Dean screamed, the sound quickly cut off by the dick that was pushed into his mouth.  
  
"Oh, yeah," the Sam in front of him groaned. "That's it, nice and wet." He slid a hand into his hair, pulling his head down until Dean could feel his cock against the back of his throat. He gagged, but Sam didn't stop, just pushed him back a little and pulled him down again, holding him still for a second before he started to fuck his mouth. Tears were starting to leak out of his eyes, a stinging salt rain that oddly enough, made it easier to open up and let Sam go in deeper, until he filled his throat.  
  
He could feel the hand inside of him move deeper, then curl together. Fuck, they were going to tear him apart from the inside out! There was the rough rub of what he thought might be a knuckle, and he was distantly aware of movement, both in front and behind, but he couldn't really separate them any longer. Things were melding together, leaving him aware only of being open and used, and he could only hope it would stop soon, because it was starting not to hurt.  
  
And Jesus, he'd never realized his brother's hands were so freaking huge, but now he couldn't help but notice, not with one fist fucking into him while two others cradled his face almost tenderly, holding him in place while he struggled not to choke on the dick in his mouth. Knuckles raked unmercifully over his prostate, sending shocks of pleasure through his entire body until his screams turned into broken moans as his own dick started to harden, hanging full and heavy between his legs. Not that he expected to get anything out of this - it was Hell, after all, and he was pretty sure that orgasm wasn't allowed, since that had to be pretty fucking close to Heaven.  
  
The Sams could come, though, and when the cock in his mouth jerked, Dean braced for it, opening a little wider to let him in deeper as he started to shoot. Almost immediately after that, there was a groan behind him and he was flipped over, legs shoved up while the Sam who'd been fisting him pulled his hand out, and fuck, that hurt! Dean screamed, then moaned as Sam shoved his dick inside and started to fuck him, pounding into him unmercifully. He was completely hard now, and so aware of the need to come that it hurt in the very best way. It went on and on, a dizzying spiral that felt so much better than it should have, and when Sam came inside him in a wash of heat, Dean could only blink up at him and groan, "Love you, Sammy."  
  
There was a tongue in his mouth, as though to silence him, and he found himself kissing back before long. He tried to tell himself it was instinct, that he'd have done as much for anyone kissing him, but one of those giant hands circled his throat and squeezed, and Dean pressed into it, and  _that_  he knew he wouldn't have trusted to anyone but Sam. Still, he didn't complain when it tightened and he started to get light-headed at the same time that rough, callused fingers closed around his aching dick and started to stroke him just right.  
  
He was dimly aware of being turned over again, urged onto hands and knees so another dick could fill him up, but the hands around his neck and dick kept him from really thinking. Pleasure sizzled up his spine as the dick inside hit his prostate, and precome spilled out over Sam's fingers. He leaned down and whispered, "Want me to lick it up, big brother? Suck your dick for you until you beg to come for me?"  
  
And God, that should've been enough to remind him of how wrong this all ways, but as the hand around his throat tightened, Dean could only scream and come instead, scalding hot pulses of ecstasy that were immediately tainted with the knowledge that he'd just come from his brother's hands, come around his brother's cock while he fucked him. This time his words came out on a sob, "Love you, Sammy."  
  
He didn't deserve to say that, didn't deserve to love him, not when he'd let them turn rape into pleasure, but as if they could read his mind, another hard dick brushed over his lips and he heard his brother's voice rasp, "Please, Dean. Need you to suck it."  
  
And Dean had never been able to say no to Sam.  
  
Dean lost count of how many Sams there were, or how many times they fucked him, how many times his brother's fingers, hands, or dick were shoved inside him. They'd all faded into one, one Sammy who used him mercilessly, driving into him while he whispered fantasies and love and need in his ear. He sucked their dicks, rode them at their command, and spread for them while they called him a whore and a slut and beautiful and theirs. And always there were Sam's hands and Sam's dick and Sam's mouth, moving over his body, owning him and pushing him into one orgasm after another. And every time it was like the first, the hot waves of shame and humiliation pouring through him, twining with his unsatisfying orgasms until he was in tears once more.  
  
The tears were the worst, because that was when the Sam fucking him would stop and gather him close, wrap his arms around him until Dean could almost believe it was real. He'd tell him how he didn't need to do this, talk about wanting Dean by his side when he eventually took his rightful place on the throne of Hell, kiss the tears away and whisper sweet pleas for Dean to say yes so he could be ready. And Dean had been tempted, so many times he'd nearly said yes only to catch a flash of black eyes or smell sulfur that didn't belong anywhere near his brother, and he'd managed to hang onto his words and gasp, "Love you, Sammy."  
  
That was usually enough to turn what was uncomfortably close to lovemaking into fucking again, and they'd concentrate on fucking him, starting the whole cycle up again. Fuck, come, cry. It became its own rhythm, one he settled into easily enough, ready to ride it out until the end of days until Alastair appeared and the Sams stepped away. "Well, Dean? Ready to join me now?"  
  
He shook his head and braced for more, but Alastair shrugged. "It was worth a try. Say good-bye to your brother." One hand rose, fingers closing together, and Dean realized that he was about to make the Sams go away, that he was about to lose them all in the blink of an eye.  
  
"Wait!" The word tore its way out of his mouth, foreign and harsh, and Alastair smirked at him as he lowered his hand.  
  
"For what? If you'd say yes, I'd let you have them. All of them, yours to keep and play with whenever you wanted." A cool, appraising look drifted over one of the Sams and he shook his head. "A shame to get rid of such good work, don't you think? But if it isn't working, then I'll have to come up with something new."  
  
And that's when Dean knew they had him. His brother was lost to him, but at least with this, he could have something, a small piece of him to keep for himself. It was seven different kinds of wrong, weak and selfish, and Dean needed it like he'd once needed air to breathe. And maybe... maybe Sam really would join him down there. He hoped he wouldn't, but knew that if he did, Dean would greet him with open arms and legs. He was his brother's whore at heart, and he couldn't fight that anymore. If he took the deal then he could have this, could keep the comfort that the Sams offered, even if was a cold one. Swallowing hard, he could still taste his brother's come on his tongue as he whispered, "Love you, Sammy," and nodded.


End file.
